Chapter 1

(AL)


I put my headphones on and blasted the music until my ears hurt in an attempt to block out all their yelling. It didn’t work. I guess I should have known better by now; nothing ever seemed to work with this. I wished Kayleigh would just dump the damn guy already; our lives would have been a hell of a lot easier without him in it. Don’t get me wrong; I love Kayleigh, she’s my best friend, and she did take me in when I had no where else to go. But her taste in men was just despicable. I have to say; it was one of her only flaws. She was beautiful; a red-head, with big blue eyes. She had almost perfectly tanned skin without a lump, bump, scar, wart, pimple, mole or anything else you could think of in sight. She was thin, but not too thin, curvy and had legs that went on forever. Next to her, I pretty much looked like Shrek. I’m not even kidding. And, to top it off, she was one of the nicest people I had ever met in my entire life.

But Kayleigh had her flaws. Oh yes, she was flawed alright. There was her sense of direction, or lack there-of, first of all. And then the fact that she forgave people so freaking easily. Like, we would get into a fight, and all I had to do was give her a hug and say I was sorry the next day, and BAM! Forgiven. But her worst flaw had to be her taste in men, like I already mentioned. She was 21 years old, and not once had I seen her with a respectable man. And she had like…6 different boyfriends per year. It drove me almost to insanity, because now I actually had to live in the same house with her and all the strange men she brought home every couple of months. Not that I wasn’t grateful for her taking me in, really, I was, but to hear the same fight after fight over and over again, well, let’s just say it got a little bit tiring.

The fighting happened so often, in fact, that I had completely given up in trying to get them to stop or blocking out the noise. Now, every time I heard some yelling, I just grabbed my stick and a couple of pucks and dragged my hockey net out to the parking lot across the street and began shooting. Shooting took my mind off of everything: the fighting, the stress of school, money, guys…I would shoot for hours on end sometimes. I loved hockey more than almost anything in the world, but I had to stop playing a while back. My old rusty hockey net was my only outlet left, besides the arena a couple blocks down and Kayleigh’s flat-screen. The game room in the basement was my idea. It had air-hockey, pool, darts, bubble-hockey, foose-ball and the television. It was my own guilty pleasure, and I didn’t have to pay for any of it. I could be very persuasive.

Today, with this particular man (I no longer take the unnecessary time to learn their names) the fighting was rather louder than usual. What could they possibly have to yell about? They had only been dating for a week! Either way, I quickly made my way towards the parking lot, hockey gear in tow. I guess tonight just wasn’t my night though, because after about ten minutes of messy slap-shots, I slammed my stick on the ground in frustration. What did I have to do to get a decent shot in? I lay down on the pavement, belly up, covering my face with my hands and letting out a groan. After a few minutes like this, I felt someone lie down next to me. Supposing it was Kayleigh and not wanting to deal with her right now, I didn’t give away any reaction.
“Bad day?” a male voice asked me. Okay, so I was wrong.
“You have no idea,” I responded, not moving my hands from my face. I heard the voice chuckle.
“By what I can see in front of me, I think I can make a pretty solid guess,” he said. I didn’t answer; I didn’t feel like talking to this stranger right now. Something about his voice sounded somewhat familiar, however, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Realizing I wasn’t going to say anything, the voice continued, “Looking at the net, stick and pucks, I’d say you were practicing shooting. But judging by the position you’re currently in, I’m thinking it wasn’t going so well for you.” Wow, shocker.
“And what would you know about that?” I asked him, exasperated.
“A lot more than you’d think, actually.”
“So what, you play sports or something?”
“You could say that,” he responded, amused. I finally turned my head to look at him, and what I saw made my breath catch in my throat. It could have been caused by his wavy dirty-blond hair, or his beautiful, piercing blue eyes. Or it could have been caused by his chiseled features and obvious youth. Or by that amazing, heart-breaking smile spread across his lips. Or maybe it was the fact that he was Jordan Staal, center for the Pittsburgh Penguins. He laughed at me, obviously knowing what I was thinking. He then jumped up, pulling me along with him.
“Jordan Staal, pleased to make your acquaintance,” he told me, sticking out his right hand. I shook it, and said,
“Al Elvidge,” I made sure to take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves and slow my heart-rate; I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of one of my second-favorite team’s best players. I couldn’t believe this; Jordan fucking Staal! He had like, just won the Stanley Cup only a few months ago. W-O-W.
“So Al, tell me, what was the problem with your shooting?” Jordan asked me, taping his chin thoughtfully to give the effect of a psychologist.
“Uh…it was my slap-shot.” I answered him hesitantly.
“I see…” he said, before picking up my stick and handing it to me.
“What are you doing?” I asked him as he began backing up the net a few paces and collecting the stray pucks.
“I am offering you my assistance,” he said, giving me a toothy grin and he walked up in front of me.
“Why?”
“I never can resist helping a damsel in distress,” he answered, winking at me, “And also you looked kind of sad when I saw you when I was driving by and I thought maybe I could cheer you up! I happen to be pretty good at hockey, and I also have a sparkling personality,” he added, flashing me a photogenic smile.
“Arrogant, are we, Mr. Staal?” I asked him, grinning.
“Just shoot the damn puck,” he snapped jokingly. I stepped up next to the puck, raised my stick back above my head and then brought it swinging down, slapping the rubber disk into the back of the net. Jordan looked surprised.
“Well, that wasn’t half-bad, kid,” he told me, picking up the puck and throwing it back to me.
“Who are you calling kid? How old are you, like nineteen?”
“I happen to be twenty-one years old, I just have a young-looking face,” he retorted, circling his face with his hand for enfaces. “How old are you?”
“Twenty.” I said quietly. He scoffed.
“Well then. I seem to have every right to call you kid.” He gave me a crooked smile as he said this. Geez, he was cute when he did that. “Shoot again, except this time bend your knees more.” I bent my knees.
“Lower.” He said. I bent them more.
“Lower.” I bent them some more.
“Lower.” I bent them a little bit more, before falling flat on my ass. He doubled over, he was laughing so hard. I shot him a death-glare, and he came over and helped me up, still laughing.
“S-sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He told me, clearing his throat. I took a second shot.
“See? That was better! Ease up a bit on your follow-through, though,” Jordan said, throwing me the puck back. I took another one, and I did notice that it was getting a little bit stronger.
“Okay, now this time, spread you hands out a bit further.” I did so.
“No, no, no, not so much. Look,” he said as he came up behind me, putting his hands on top of mine and moving them the proper distance apart on my stick. His hands stayed on mine a moment too long and I felt myself blushing profusely. He quickly stepped back and cleared his throat nervously. “Uh…okay, that’s fine. Go ahead,” he said. I swung back and took the shot, and much to my delight it flew straight to the top right corner, steady as a rock. Jordan whooped with enthusiasm, and gave me high five.
“Damn! That was a sick shot! That would probably even give Flower a run for his money. I am such a good teacher. Oh, I should open a business! I could make millions!” he yelped, getting excited. I laughed at him.
“Whoa there, buddy. You already make millions, remember? Save the business plan for your retirement.”
“Right, right. Sometimes I forget,” He said, laughing now too. Suddenly he stopped. “Wait. Did you just call me buddy?”
“What? If you can call me kid, I can call you buddy.” I responded, blushing a little again. I saw Jordan’s eyes sparkle, as if he had gotten an idea.
“Give me your phone,” he said, as he fished into his pocket and handed me his own cell phone. We exchanged numbers before he said, “You know, I think the best way for you to learn your slap-shot is by watching an example from a pro,” he told me, a devious smile on his lips.
“Alright then, show me,” I said, handing him my stick. But he just shook his head.
“No, no, this’ll never work. You see, I’m not in my ‘zone’,” he said, making air-quotes when he said ‘zone’.
“Your zone?” I asked him raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I need to be in my zone to do anything minimally hockey-related,” he said, still grinning. “Well that puts us in quite a pickle, doesn’t it? Hang on, I think I’ve got it!” he yelped, snapping his fingers. I shook my head at him, knowing he probably ‘had it’ the entire time. “You have to come to the game tomorrow.” He said. I was about to protest but he held his hand up, silencing me.
“Honey, it’s the only way. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you have much of a choice. It’s the only way you’ll be able to really learn,” he told me, completely straight-faced now. I sighed in defeat, and a triumphant smile formed on his face.
“I’ll leave two tickets at the front of the arena, just tell them your name and you’re good to go. Bring a friend if you like!” he told me, before walking backwards towards his car, still looking at me, grinning widely. He opened the door to his car, but right before stepping inside, he called out, “Al?”
“Yeah?”
“It has been an honor,” he said, before bowing majestically. He then jumped into his car and drove away. I stood there watching him turn the corner, before realizing it was getting dark and grabbing the net and the rest of my stuff and pulling it across the street to the house.

I found Kayleigh sitting on the couch watching TV by herself. I supposed her relationship was over, but she didn’t seem too solemn about it, which was good. I told her all about what had happened, and she got so excited it was hilarious. Unlike me, she hadn’t played a day of hockey in her life, but, like me, was a huge hockey fan. I invited her to go to the game with me tomorrow, and she was delighted.

We began watching Friends (it was my all-time favorite show) and after a while Kayleigh headed up to bed. The moment she left the room I felt my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. I opened it to see I had a text message from Jordan. I laughed because he had put his number down under the name ‘buddy’.

Watcha up to?

I laughed and replied:

Watching Friends :P

A couple minutes later there was a response.

Why?!

Because it’s the greatest show of all time, duh.

A moment later my phone started to ring. I picked it up.

“Hello?”
“Hey kid!” I smiled as I heard Jordan’s voice on the other line. “Are you serious about Friends being the greatest show of all time?”
“Yeah, of course, why?”
“Well, I’ve got Sid here, you know, the hockey phenom, and it’s his favorite show as well…”
“Really?” Wow, Sidney Crosby liking Friends. Who would have guessed?
“Uh, yeah…he knows like all the lines to every show. He makes it really easy for us to make fun of him…wait hang on a sec.” Jordan said, and I heard voices in the background. Someone was saying, “Put it on speakerphone!” and then the rest was a blur. Then Jordan was back, “Okay, Sid wants to talk to you, he thinks you and he are soul-mates or something, so I’m gonna hand you over to him, kay?”
“Okay,” I replied. Again, W-O-W.
“Hey Al! It’s Sidney Crosby, just in case you didn’t catch that.”
“Yeah, I got it.” I was speaking to Sidney Crosby! What the hell?!
“So you really like Friends?”
“Yeah, is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, yeah! I thought I was the only one!” I laughed at him.
“So the guys make fun of you about that?”
“Yeah, they tease me about a lot of stuff…” he said solemnly, and I heard someone with a French accent yell, “Like his huge lips and ass!” I laughed, and then I heard Sid say, “You’re just jealous because I’m better looking than you,” and a chorus of ‘ooohs’ in the background.
“Don’t worry Sid, I know all the lines to every show as well, so that’s one thing they can stop teasing you about.” I told him.
“Marry me.” Sid said, sounding completely serious, and I laughed again. Then I heard a huge commotion in the background. Then Sid yelled, “Okay Al, I gotta go, everyone’s trying to steal the-” but he didn’t have time to finish before there was another loud commotion. I heard Jordan yell, “What the fuck!” and the voice I heard next made me smile instantly.
“Hello? This Al?” I could recognize that accent anywhere.
“Yeah, hi!”
“Hi. You know who this is?”
“I think I can make a guess.”
“Okay.”
“I think they call you Geno?”
“Yeah! How you know?”
“I’ve seen your interviews. You have a pretty memorable voice.”
“Yeah, people tell me that sometime. So, Staalsy tell us about you.”
“He did? What did he say?”
“He say you play hockey good, nice shot. He say maybe Flower not stop it.”
“Well that was nice of him.”
“Yeah. He also say you really pretty.”
“Wow.” Wow.
“Yeah. Staalsy getting mad at me now, he wanna talk to you, but I see you at game tomorrow?”
“Yeah, you will. Bye, Geno.”
“Bye.” Another commotion.
“Hey, it’s me. Listen, whatever Geno said to you wasn’t true. He’s crazy; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. You know Russians…they’re all messed up in the head. What did he say to you anyway?”
“Well, he said you told them I had a nice shot.”
“Oh…well, that’s true. But the rest is all lies!”
“He also told me that you said I was pretty.”
“Uh…yeah, okay, that was true as well.”
“That was sweet, Jordan.”
“Oh, well thanks.” I could tell he was smiling, and I felt a tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Huh…that was weird.